


Open Up Your Eyes

by birchtreeharold



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, TYPOS FOR DAYZ SORRY, but it's after louis is mean it's all very confusing, i think it is??, it isn;t actually whatever, it's based off of a video i saw that wet viral, they basically fuck in the train toilet, they meet and play piano together, train au ??, um ??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8903362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birchtreeharold/pseuds/birchtreeharold
Summary: Harry is in Paris, ready to board a train home to his family in time for Christmas when he comes across a piano and finds himself dueting with a stranger; A stranger with blue eyes and skinny jeans.The musical dynamic is wonderful, and the tension is evident, and he hopes that maybe the stranger feels it too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Gemini Feed by BANKS which I would highly recommend listening to after listening to the beautiful Una Mattina by the beautiful Ludovico Einaudi, which is the piece the guys in the video play so gorgeously.
> 
> Also the link to the vid is at the start, it's cute as fuck  
> Also this thing is a mess I haven't proof read it or anything so LOWER. YOUR. EXPECTATIONS.
> 
> Oh my god it's such a mess I'm so sorry I'll edit when I'm not falling asleep on my keyboard bye
> 
> I edited it and it's still shit you're welcome

www.youtube.com/watch?v=4I_NYya-WWg

Harry trudges through the crowd as fast as he can, anxious to get to the platform in time for his train. He gives one last push past a large group of loud tourists and his face falls when his eyes catch the bright screen above him. His train home is delayed for two hours, due to weather complications (he learns from eavesdropping on a family sitting nearby). He gives his temples a quick rub and sighs. His backpack sits heavily on his back and he lets it slide to the ground, then lets himself follow.

After his third coffee, he decides to actually get up from the uncomfortable seating in the nearest café and explore the train station. His fingers itch with tension built up over the course of the day and he reaches for his pack of smokes. Before he can head outside for one, his eyes catch the glossy black surface. No one is seated at the piano that sits randomly in a train station in Paris. 

His eyebrows furrow, his cigarette remaining tucked behind his ear for a little while longer. He doesn't even realise he's headed towards the piano until he's sat on the worn down seat and brushing his fingers, with his nails painted a bright blue but severely chipped, across the keys lightly. He hasn't seen or even touched a piano in all of his months of travelling the world. He knows what he's playing, his fingers are pressing the white keys with ease and the tune is alive before he knows it. He can almost feel the tension slipping from his body with every chord, and it feels ecstatic.

It's missing an element, though, and he knows this because it's a duet. It's always been a favourite of his, and he'd missed the sound of it, even if it means lacking a partner.

His eyes are shut and his fingers are flying across the piano and he imagines that extra puzzle piece is there, and it feels so real, he can hear it crystal clear as if there were a person playing the piano inches from himself. His eyes open at how intense the feeling becomes and he almost laughs, because another set of hands are working at the keys. These hands are gentle and smaller than his own, but beautiful, all the same. He smiles because the piece is complete. It sounds so beautiful, and god, harry has missed his piano. He's missed the pure bliss he could feel from the delicate trickle of a gentle tune, or the dark waves of emotion he could absorb from heavier pieces. He feels the itch at the corners of his eyes, tears threatening to escape.

His attention is drawn back to the hands assisting his own, and they flow with the ease Harry is blessed with, too. He risks a glance up at the face of his new piano friend. The man's eyes are focused on the piano, but Harry can tell from the quick scan that they're a crisp blue, and his features are sharp. He's very pretty, and Harry has to keep his head down as not to give away the blush on his face. 

The man jumps to Harry's other side as the piece turns deeper in pitch. His breath is on harry's neck, and Harry himself can't seem to breathe. He finds his oxygen and puts his focus on the piece being played and they...they sound really good together. In fact, the piece sounds the most beautiful it ever has, in Harry's honest opinion, even amongst the busy chatter of the train station around him.

The man whispers something, as to indicate a change and moves again. He's back at the right side of the piano. At some point, he has to reach across Harry to continue the tune and Harry has to hold his breath as he continues his part. From what Harry can gather from the small side glances he's got away with, this man has been smiling the whole time. It makes Harry feel lighter and he smiles too, enjoying the duet for what it is.

Harry notices the duet coming to an end and has to hold back on the sadness that settles in his stomach. He doesn't want it to end. He doesn't want to stop playing, ever, and he may or may not ever want the pretty boy next to him to leave his side, too. 

The piece grows to a climax and relaxes again, building once again and tinkling to a finish. Harry breathes out heavily and looks to his right. The boy is gone. His eyebrows furrow and he looks up and around, only to freeze at the sight. At least a hundred people surround the piano and are applauding. Harry finds the boy right at the centre, clapping with them, staring right at Harry. He bows his head once and Harry stands up on wobbly legs. He walks over to where Harry is frozen to the spot and grips his shoulders. 

"Alright, mate?" Harry stutters and mumbles trying to respond.  
"I... they..."  
"You okay?" Harry laughs at that.  
"Yeah, I think so."  
"Anyway, nice to play with you." He grins, and Harry watches the man as he turns to walk away from him.

"Wait!" He scrambles to grab his backpack and follow the man into the crowd. 

He breaches the huge group of people and spots the man lighting a cigarette outside the station. He walks towards him and grabs his own cigarette from where it sits behind his ear. He leans back against the wall right beside the man.

"Got a light?"  
"Sure," the man says without glancing at harry. He fishes around in the back pocket of his skin tight black jeans and hands harry a green lighter. He passes it over and his smoke goes slack between his lips when he sees who he's lending it to, "look, mate, we played together, doesn't make us best friends. So you better not be following me."  
Harry laughs at his abrupt comment and sucks at the cigarette, nicotine coating his lungs and relaxing his muscles. He certainly didn't expect that.

"Actually, I was just going to say thank you, for that. I haven't played in a long time, so that was very nice." He says politely. The man turns from where he stands, back against the wall and his left foot bent against it too. Harry takes this time to actually take him in. He's _gorgeous_. Harry feels his cheeks heat at the sight and draws his eyes back to the man before him, cool and refreshing against his smooth, tanned skin.  
"My pleasure, mate. I play quite a lot at home. The sisters love Einaudi."  
"Who doesn't?" Harry chuckles, "So what are you doing in Paris?"  
"It's personal."  
"Okay." Harry feels cut off but oddly drawn to the man in front of him. He seems to want to be left alone, but at the same time, seems lonely.  
"Hey, do me a favour? Stop staring at me, yeah? Your eyes are all big and green and froglike. It's creepy." Harry flushes and diverts his eyes to the city before them.  
"I'm sorry. Oh god. Uhm, I'm sorry, it's just that you're...you're very attractive. And..." He doesn't know how, but he seems to be turning a darker shade of red with every passing second, panic making him blurt shit out like that. Although, he thinks, _it's not entirely untrue._  
"Oh, I am?" The man quirks an eyebrow.  
"Yes, very," Harry breathes out, somewhat happy with the neutral reaction.  
"Thanks." He stubs out his cigarette, and Harry does the same.  
"You're welcome. So, which train are you on?"  
"The one that leaves for London in around..." He checks his phone quickly, "20 minutes."  
"Well, so am I." Louis looks Harry up and down.  
"How lovely." He gives a straight smile.  
"Wanna grab a coffee before we leave?" Harry asks pathetically.  
"I'm more of a tea man, myself." He picks up his backback from the gravel.  
"Great! So am I." Harry picks up his own.  
"Life is full of wonderful coincidences, innit?"  
"Absolutely," Harry says, equally sarcastic in his tone, "shall we?"  
"Might as well..." The man sighs, following Harry to the café. 

Harry eventually gets Louis' name out of him with enough prying, and he reluctantly tells him that he was visiting family here after Harry had said he was travelling. They both learned that they were both now heading home for Christmas. 

Harry soon enough discovers that the only problem is that Louis seems to have built up a multilayer wall around himself in response to Harry. But Harry can see that this wall is composed of foam bricks and butter cement. He only needs to warm to him by a fraction in order to melt them down, layer by layer. 

So Harry tries time and time again, offering himself to the boy he felt connected to through music, but now so distant. Louis battles on and on, however, relentless in his shielding against Harry's soft compliments on Louis' tea preference and his little blue and pink badge pinned to his denim jacket. ( _"It's just tea, mate.", "It's actually blue, pink and purple."_ ) 

Harry finds hope only once every few minutes with him, though, be it either a slight smile, or a small glance over his cup, or an answer perhaps too intricate for someone trying so hard to guard himself. 

"I like music. I love music. It's been a massive part of my life for as long as I can remember. And with piano, I love it more. I love it because it's me, no one else. Just me and the keys and the sound they make and it feels...so intimate. It's a moment of solitude for me and-" He stops there, and harry's heart drops through the floor.  
"Carry on if you want."  
"I don't want. I want to get on my train."  
"It should be here now." The train emerges with that statement.  
"Thank fuck." Louis thanks whoever is listening, which happens to be Harry, and he decides the sting of it is bearable. 

They board the train and before they part to find their seats, Harry laughs and wonders aloud if it would be at all pathetic to ask for Louis' phone number. Louis smirks and says that it surpasses pathetic, but Harry somehow still finds himself in his seat, staring down at the eleven digits beneath the name, and he checks it twice, but lo and behold, it reads 'Piano Lou'. He smiles down at the screen and opens a new message. 

_Hello, guess who?_

Hmmm, curls all over the place, frog-like face, legs for days and a voice as deep as thunder? 

Also, side note: I hate thunder.

And frogs. They creep me the fuck out.

_Ok, got the point, love. Thanks_

You're welcome

_Wanna hear a joke_

No

_How do you find Will Smith in the snow_

I don't care

_HOW DO YOU FIND WILL SMITH IN THE SNOW_

L:Oh my god

How do you find Will Smith in the snow Harry

_Look for the fresh prints_

What

I don't get it

_It actually works better when you say it out loud_

Absolutely shocking

Appalling

I'm gagging

I'm literally gagging

People are looking

_Trust me, darling, they're looking for a different reason entirely_

And that would be?

_Because you're gorgeous and you're gagging. Do the math_

Ooh someone's a smartarse 

_I am actually_

You're not

_Do you wanna hear another joke_

Jesus christ 

_I've got hundreds and we've got hours so buckle up mate_

Just get it over with 

_Knock knock_

Fuck off

_Urine_

Don't you dare

_Urine secure_

Don't know what for

I fucking hate you 

_I know you do_

Well then, fuck OFF

_I have another joke_

BRILLIANT

_it is_

Comedic genius 

Please kill me 

KILL ME

_you may look around and see two different groups of people_

Not really 

_White collar...blue collar...but I don't see it that way, you know why not?_

Please don't 

_Because I am collar blind_

That is IT 

I've had enough 

You crossed a fucking line

_I did? Splendid_

Watch your fucking back 

I'm not replying from now 

RIGHT NOW

_Knock knock_

...who's there

Lettuce

Lettuce who

Lettuce in and you'll find out 

I'm on fire today 

Harry continues texting Louis his jokes and random comments about the train quality tea and the views outside Louis is surely seeing too. He does it to rile him up, but also to kill time. It keeps him smiling too, imagining the reaction he's getting on the other side of the train.  
It's been just under an hour when Harry finally gets a response. Harry grins behind his card cup full of shitty tea.

Listen Harpoon

_It's Harry_

Whatever. Stop fucking texting me. It's fucking annoying.

Harry suddenly feels guilt panging in the pit of his stomach. He only wanted to get through to him, if only to amuse him, but Louis almost seems serious now.

_Sorry : (_

And enough with the memes, they're not only annoying but disgracefully unfunny.

_It was one meme_

WHATEVER 

God, you're inFURIATING

Which coach are you on

_Coach B_

Why

Are you hiring an assassin to come and murder me because I haven't got a will written yet so if you could give me ten minutes or so

Harry doesn't get a chance to send it because he's interrupted by a sharp, forced cough. He looks up to find Louis standing above him, in all his gorgeous glory. Harry mentally notes that he smells amazing from here, too.

"Hello." Harry smiles softly.  
"Yeah, hi. Stop fucking texting me." His hands on his hips, attitude evident from his posture.  
"Why? It's much too fun." Harry pouts.  
"What's it going to take for you to shut up?"  
Harry looks to Louis' face, a playful glint in his eye. Louis catches it straight away before Harry can smother it, before he can stop the train of thought from losing control and inevitably crashing into a wreck of arousal. But Louis catches it. It's as though he catches it and stuffs it into his back pocket next to his pack of cigarettes because his eyes turn dark, and a small, sly smile emerges on his face. He takes a step towards Harry, standing mere millimeters from being between his legs, and leans in close. Harry can feel Louis' hot breath washing over his face, oddly cool in comparison to the heat he can feel flooding his body. 

"Harry, Harpoon, Hilda, whatever it is. If I kiss you, will you leave me alone?" Harry's breath itches and his heart stops. He doesn't even think befoe he speaks again.  
"Certainly not." And with that, Louis inches forward and presses a kiss to Harry's lips. Harry's eyes drift shut, but Louis is gone in a flash. His eyes open, and Louis is standing over him again.

"Get up." Harry near-whimpers at his tone. He stands up on wobbly legs and looks around the busy carriage. No one is looking, and no one seems to care. A man coughs in the seat to Harry's right and straightens his newspaper with a flick. Harry looks back to Louis' face. He simply nods in the direction of the carriage doors. Harry eagerly walks up the aisle, Louis following with a hand on Harry's waist, which he withdraws when he seems to notice he'd done it without thinking. 

Once through the doors, Louis pushes Harry against the coach wall.

"Don't talk. I can't stand that voice of yours."  
"Oka-" Louis' mouth is on Harry's again.

He begins slow, with lingering soft kisses, and Harry is a mess already. His knees are weak with only simple pecks to his mouth to justify it. 

The pressure of Louis' lips on Harry's grows, and he glides them across Harry's mouth over and over again, teasing but never committing. 

Harry finds his neck straining, chasing Louis' mouth with his own and biting down on his lower lip when he catches him. At that, Louis makes a noise, low and gruff, which Harry can only accept with a small triumphant smile. Louis must feel it too because the next grumble agaisnt his lips sounds a bit like a 'fuck off', but Harry can't be sure.  
Louis' tongue finds it's way to Harry's, and they kiss deeper, with Harry's hands on Louis' smooth neck, grasping, and Louis' smaller hands on Harry's soft hips, gripping.

"Toilet." Louis breathes out.

Harry nods, his eyes wide and glossy, his lips surely a mess. He guesses as much from the sight of his tinted, cherry-flavoured gloss on Louis' light stubble, which dusts his upper lip and jawline, accentuating his cheekbones like a fucking work of art.

Harry takes a second, as Louis scans their surroundings, just to wonder how anyone hasn't come across them. The train is very busy on this fine morning, and no one seems to have caught them. The thought then occurs to him; has someone seen them and they just...haven't noticed? 

The horror of the idea turns Harry's face a deep pink. 

"Y'alright, love?" 

Harry nods dumbly, biting down on his lip. He blushes for an entirely different reason now, the pet name triggering a spark through his entire body and somehow ending its course at the tip of his dick. 

Louis drags Harry by his hand to the toilet located one, long, coach away from them. They hurry along the aisle, a few necessary apologies coming up, with thanks to Harry's clumsiness and a thump to an innocent passenger's head as they slept. Harry tries to tame the flame growing inside of him that's making him feel more lossely limbed than usual, but the thought of Louis' mouth on his, and where that could be leading them, makes him think he may as well be swallowing petrol by the litre.

The toilet door slides shut and Harry's hot back is pressed against it in no time. 

"You..." Louis mutters in between kissing and sucking at Harry's neck.  
"What did I do?" Harry manages. His hands rest on Louis' chest, clawing at the soft t-shirt there.  
"You...How dare you?" He pulls away completely. His eyes meet Harry's like water meeting sand; completely lost to each other.  
Louis continues, his breath heavy and hot along Harry's jaw, "How dare you do that? You show up, looking like fucking sex in a pair of boots, those curls of yours too, how dare you? And that voice! Christ.  
"You show up, and play that piano like you were born to do it. And then..." He noses at Harry's neck, his fingers in his hair. Harry's eyes slip shut, his only focus on Louis' voice and touch. "Then you make me play it with you. Because that piece was begging for it, wasn't it? You made me do that...made me share that with you..." He places a wet kiss beneath Harry's ear. "I just...I couldn't stop it."  
"Then don't stop. S'that...is that why you've been a dick to me?" Harry can barely breathe, but he drops the question that's been clawing at his brain all day.  
"Stop talking. But yes."

Harry connects the dots, it's easy, even in his cloudy mind. Louis' speech on the intimacy of playing...playing with Harry...Louis had felt too expose. His insides turn to liquid and another kind of heat settles in his stomach. 

"Lou, it's okay."  
"Harry, I said...I said no talking," He grits out, his hands cup Harry's chin, but he's begging Harry to mean it with his eyes, "I need to finish. Let me finish," and Harry nods, "You need to know. The worst part, the most frustrating part, is that you dared come and talk to me, you fucking dared to text me the lamest jokes I'd ever heard, you sent me memes,"  
"It was one meme,"  
"And you..."  
"And I what?" Harry's breath stutters.  
"And you make me insane, over the fucking thought of touching you. You're infuriating! God, you're fucking infuriating, but you've done it. After fucking stripping me raw with the music, you dare to make me want you this bad? I still want you after you did that. I still fucking want you. How fucking dare you?" Louis looks beyond frustrated. Harry can't tell if Louis is going to choke him or kiss him, but from the thumbs that have been stroking his cheeks this entire time, he guesses it may result in the latter. All Harry can bring himself to do is laugh. He laughs because Louis hated him. But he had hated him because he wanted him? Harry laughs at that.  
"Stop laughing, you fucking frog."  
"I'm sorry." He bites his lip to suppress the laughter but the giggles escape with ease. Louis shuts him up using his lips. Their teeth clatter once or twice, their smiles never disappearing. 

He kisses his way down Harry's neck and chest, unbuttoning his shirt one by one, muttering 'fucking sexy frog boy, beautiful hands, soft skin, fuck you,' Between kisses.  
Harry's head falls back when Louis stops at his jeans, breathing over his navel. He grips at his soft hips, smoothing his thumbs over them, his touch only ever gentle, yet firm.

He unbuckles Harry's belt and unbuttons the jeans. He slides the zip down with an excruciating pace, and Harry squirms with impatience. He palms Harry through his black briefs after pulling down his jeans, and he releases a filthy moan at the contact.

Harry's hands find themselves in Louis' hair, gripping on for life.

Louis takes his wrists in his own hands and stands, pinning them to the wall. 

"No, no, you don't do that." He looks at Harry with hunger and kisses his nose. He guides Harry's hands down, behind his back, where he clasps them together. His back arches with the position and he's lost, completely lost to Louis. Louis has the control now. He wanted control because Harry began with the control over him, and he didn't even know. He feels helpless and needy, and he's never been more aroused.

Louis drops to his knees again, and yanks down Harry's briefs. Harry's back arches further at the wet heat of Louis' mouth, desperate for more. Harry begins with a whimper, "Lou-"  
Louis pulls off, his voice raspy when he says, "Don't."  
He doesn't let himself look down, in fear of losing it at the mere sight. He knows from the roaring flame growing low in his stomach that he won't last long.  
"Close. 'M so close." He almost thinks Louis hasn't heard him, he's so gone he's not even sure he said it aloud, but Louis confirms he did, in fact, hear him, crystal clear , because not a second late, he releases a hand from Harry's perky arse and reaches up to pinch his right nipple. 

How the fuck does he know that Harry is weak for nipple play?

His hands ache to grip at something, anything. But he can't disobey. The thought of Louis punishing him and the relentless mouth around his cock sends him tumbling, coming down Louis' throat with a yell. Louis seems to swallow it down with ease because soon enough he's on his feet again, supporting Harry on his bucking knees. His hands grip Harry's hair and his lips are firm on Harry's pliant mouth. Harry follows his lead willingly, still weak from his orgasm and aftershocks still hitting him like little bolts of electricity, zapping him wherever Louis' touch is on his seemingly featherlight body. He brings his hands to Louis' waist, but can barely find a light grip on him.  
He kisses Louis until he feels sober enough to form coherent words.  
Harry pushes him lightly, and Louis pushes back to connect their lips again. He has to push with more force in order for Louis to stop and realise that he wants to speak.  
"Remember what I said, Curly?" He quirks an eyebrow.  
"Yeah, but-"  
"Nuh uh, no excep-"  
"Fuck my mouth." His cheeks flush.  
"Excuse me?" Both of Louis' eyebrows shoot up this time.  
"I want you to fuck my mouth." Louis swallows thickly.  
"Yeah, okay, I guess there can be one or two exceptions."

Two orgasms and roughly an hour's worth of making out, Harry lies across Louis's chest, perched upon his lap. Louis's are legs spread wide, his head thrown back on the toilet seat they both share. It's probably an obscene sight, and highly unhygienic, but they're both too fucked out to care. Louis tips his head forward to peep down at Harry, whose legs are wrapped around his waist. His eyes are closed and he breathes softly against Louis' skin. Louis smiles and decides to break the peaceful silence.

"We should get back to our seats. We've probably been mugged."  
Harry giggles, his eyes still closed.  
"Okay."  
They dress quietly and kiss lightly before, regrettably, pressing the button to open the door to the train toilet. It slides open, and an older man with a five o'clock shadow lining his jaw is standing before them, an impatient look on his face and irritation evident from the frown creasing his slightly wrinkled forehead.  
"Fucking disgraceful, I've been waiting for fifteen minutes outside of this toilet, knocked countless times and-" He stops when the door fully slides open, revealing a smirking Louis.  
"Oh sorry, we can't have heard you over the sounds of him choking on my cock, so if you could shut the fuck up, we'll be on our way." Harry turns to Louis, stunned by his outburst, and laughs aloud.  
The man looks between the two and mutters curses amongst other shallow words neither of the boys care to acknowledge as he shoves past them into the toilet. Louis grabs Harry by the hand, with a 'fucking tosser,' and leads them both back to Harry's seat.  
Harry turns to Louis with sadness evident in his eyes.  
"Well, that was nice. Really nice. So I guess-"  
"Wait, what are you doing? You're sitting with me, now. Grab your stuff. I won't bear another minute of your stupid jokes or memes-"  
"One meme," Harry says over him, fighting a smile.  
"-especially not over text. Not one more minute"  
"Okay." He whispers, and he lets the grin emerge, and Louis smiles back. 

It turns out the two of them were lucky enough not to have been mugged, which took Louis all of half an hour to get over. Harry had tried to tell him how it was bloody eight in the morning, and no one had the effort at this time to mug someone in broad daylight.  
Yeah, I see your point, but I had the effort to suck your dick at eight in the morning, Louis had snapped back.  
"And you're okay with that? You're not...regretting it, are you?" Harry had asked quietly from beside Louis, his head low and his vulnerability showing.  
Louis had simply interlocked their fingers.  
"Not one bit."  
"Me neither." Harry bit his lip.  
"I don't think I ever will. But I just hope I don't regret asking you, Harry; fancy playing the piano together again sometime soon?" Harry's eyes lit up as his confidence returned along with a blush.  
"I don't know if you mean sucking you off or genuinely mean dueting together again. But to each of those, yes, I would very much like that."  
"Is it bad if I maybe mean both?"  
"Not one bit." Harry smiled, letting his head rest Louis' shoulder.

The boys spend the remainder of the journey discussing their simple lives back at home and what they hoped to do over Christmas.  
They talked about what their favourite pieces were and found they had many in common. 

"Louis?" Harry asks when he thinks they may be both close to drifting off to sleep.  
Louis hums in reply. His head is resting back against the glass window, and his legs are spread across Harry's lap. Harry strokes Louis' exposed ankles lightly as he thinks of how to raise his next question.  
"Did you...What you said in there," He doesn't specify where as Louis' eyes open, and they tell him he already knows what he's talking about, "About when you play. What did you mean? I mean, it's okay if you don't want to say, we barely know each other, we only met a few hours a-"  
"No, it's okay. We had each other's dicks in our mouths an hour ago, we can talk," He chuckles, "I don't really know how to word it, but playing the piano, it's almost like...a feeling, to me personally, or a sensation, an experience if you will. It's very intimate for me, which is why I don't, and haven't ever really enjoyed performing, or sharing it. I'm self-taught as well, and with a house almost always full of people, it was something for me, something I could have for me, and me only. Which is why I treasure it so much, it's a moment of solitude for me, where my mind is blank and all I feel is the music," He stops and scoffs lightly, "God, I sound like a twat," He shakes his head.  
"No, you really don't," Harry assures, his eyes focused on Louis, holding on to every word, like it may be the last sound he ever hears.  
"Thanks," He smiles softly.  
"So, did I...did I spoil that for you?" Harry's brows furrow with worry.  
"No, don't think of it like that. I joined in on my own terms, against my own protests, which says a lot, because I'm a stubborn wanker. I was angry at myself for going against myself, but I couldn't stay angry at myself, which made me even angrier if that makes sense?" He laughs.  
"I think I'm following, but continue."  
"I couldn't stay angry because I'd wanted it. I was drawn to you, and I couldn't figure out why. No matter how much I tried to reject you afterwards, too. Why would I let someone in on that part of myself? A stranger, too?"  
"I don't really know how to answer that Louis, I'm wondering the same."  
"I guess it could be the legs," Harry pinches his leg, "Ouch! Or the curls," Another pinch, "Hey! No, okay, it was definitely the blowjob lips," An even harder pinch that makes him yelp.  
"There are people who can hear us! Jesus Christ, Louis." Harry laughs.  
"But I'm trying to work it out, Harry. I think I'm halfway there," Louis' face goes soft, "And I kind of want to figure it out, but I also kind of want you there to help me too."  
"I'd love to."  
"Okay."  
Harry doesn't know how they manage it on the tiny seats, but he crawls up to Louis and lies against his side, snuggling into his natural warmth. They're both practically hanging off of the seats when they finally settle, but neither of them minds too much.

They both wake up upon arrival with stiff necks.  
It ends with a simple 'Call me, yeah?' before they both exit the train and greet their families.  
Harry and Louis do meet again, eventually. It takes three years, a wedding and a baby boy of their own, but they figure it out between the two of them, why Louis couldn't resist the boy with the curls and magical fingers much like his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you if you made it this far with this mess x
> 
> Send me hate on twitter if you want @birchtreeharold


End file.
